


If Found Please Return To

by ThorneofAcre



Series: The (Mis)Adventures of the Musketeers [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThorneofAcre/pseuds/ThorneofAcre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of 'Friends and Enemies', the musketeers decide on what to do with d'Artagnan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Found Please Return To

“So you used an innocent unsuspecting woman as a diversion for an armed guard who wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her?” Athos stared at the young man who was studying the floor, not meeting his eyes.

The three elite musketeers had in their usual fashion taken over the captain’s office who sat at his desk, working on the report of the latest mission, ignoring them. D’Artagnan stood at attention in the middle of the room having just given his account of everything that had happened from dueling with Athos to dealing the killing blow to Gaudet.

“Er…” he said, intelligently. “Yes?”

Porthos couldn’t keep his snort of laughter contained at the half terrified, half hopeful look on d’Artagnan’s face. “Oi Athos, get off his case. He did good.”

“Besides the Lady Constance said that she did it for you, Athos,” Aramis added from where he was leaning against the cupboard. “You must have made quite an impression on her.”

Aramis and Porthos shared a grin and even Athos’s usually stoic expression broke into a smile. “Well, you have my gratitude for helping my friends in clearing my name.”

D’Artagnan visibly deflated, his relief apparent. “That’s… um, that was no problem,” he said. He looked at Athos, suddenly earnest. “I must… apologize for my behavior earlier. I acted out of misplaced anger and I am sorry.” 

“Aww, he is adorable. Can we keep him? I want to keep him,” Aramis stated to the room.

Porthos nodded sagely, “Aye.”

Athos glared at his companions before schooling his face into his customary expression of indifference and turning back to d’Artagnan, who had started to look mildly confused. Like a lost little puppy. An adorable lost puppy.

Athos shook his head to clear it of such ridiculous thoughts and made sure his voice was hard before speaking: “Do you have plans of returning back to Gascony boy?”

“Um, no?” d’Artagnan suggested. Athos rose an eyebrow and d’Artagnan looked away again. “I didn’t actually plan that far ahead. My father was coming to petition the king on Gascony’s behalf to reconsider the high taxes because of the bad harvest, but…”

“Petitioning the king would be of no use.” Porthos came over and clasped d’Artagnan’s shoulder, almost knocking the breath out of him. Athos winced sympathetically – Porthos really did not know his strength sometimes. “The cardinal is the one who decides the taxes and he is not going to pay any heed to such requests no matter the outcome of the harvest.”

D’Artagnan opened his mouth to argue – he had to at least _try,_ he owed that much to his father - but he thought better of it. Porthos was right. What little he had seen of the cardinal was enough to tell him that something as inconsequential as fair taxes was not a matter he would bother himself with. In a city where justice depended on the whims of a man and his obsession with his public image, where a man as honorable as Athos could be put in front of a shooting squad to merely set an _example_ ; d’Artagnan did not have any hope of finding the answers his father had been searching for.

In all honesty he had no idea what he was going to do. He had ridden into Paris with Athos’s name on his lips and a burning desire for revenge clouding his mind. His anger had given way to confusion and the need for an explanation had propelled him into getting to the bottom of the whole ordeal. But now, with the man responsible for his father’s death killed by his hand and the craving for vengeance satisfied, he felt… empty.

Athos studied the young man whose thoughts and emotions were clearly displayed on his expressive face. Gone was the brash but confident lad who had strode into the courtyard challenging him to a duel.  In his stead stood a boy who had recently been orphaned and who was completely and utterly lost. It was a look he knew well.

He had seen it enough times in the mirror.

“Take some days, go home. Tell your family about your father and see to the affairs of your farm and estate,” Athos said, making sure to make it sound like a suggestion instead of an order.

“I already sent a letter. My mother had died when I was four years of age and my farm would be cared for by my uncle. I don’t think I could…” D’Artagnan’s voice broke.

Aramis cleared his throat to get Athos’s attention. When he looked over, Aramis rose both eyebrows: _Well?_

Athos nodded back. “Alright then, that’s settled.” He turned around to face the captain who had still to look up from whatever he was writing. “Sire, we are keeping him.”

Captain Treville put his quill down and leaned back in his chair his piercing gaze settling on d’Artagnan who realizing he was being measured, stood a little straighter, though still looking slightly confused and lost. The captain remained silent for several minutes before shaking his head. “He’s too young and too impetuous. He also lacks any recommendation and there is no one who would sponsor him through his training.”

Aramis and Porthos both came forward but it was Athos who spoke. “I would sponsor him, and he has the recommendations of all three of us.”

“And as far as his hot headedness is concerned, we will beat that out of him sire.” Aramis put in, the gleeful note in his voice making d’Artagnan gulp.

“If I may ask, what are we talking about here?” he asked, searching the faces of all three men who were standing by his side.

Treville took some time to observe the resolute faces of his three best soldiers. It seemed like they had taken a liking to the boy and found in him a kindred spirit. He nodded, satisfied. “Very well then, D’Artagnan would you like to sign on as a soldier in the regiment and train as a musketeer of the King’s Guard under these men?” he said, focusing on the man in question.

D’Artagnan heard the words but it took a complete minute for him to comprehend their meaning. He had heard stories about the gallantry and bravery of the King’s Musketeers. It was an extremely elite group, one that a simple farm boy like him from a small town could only dream of joining. And here he was being offered the chance to sign up and train with the same men whom he had come to admire and respect despite the short time he had known them. They were willing to stand up for him, Athos was willing to go as far as to sponsor him through his training… it was unbelievable.

He was brought out of his state of wonder by an elbow to his ribs and he glanced at Porthos to his right who muttered “This is where you say ‘yes sir, it would be my honor, thank you,’ lad.”

“Yes… yes!” d’Artagnan spluttered, to the amusement of both the musketeers and the captain. He collected himself and took a deep breathe, not able to stop the wide smile from spreading over his face. “Yes sir, it would be an honor to train as a musketeer, sir.”

Athos and Aramis smirked. Porthos clapped him on the back so hard that he would have gone tumbling into the desk in front if Athos hadn’t grabbed his arm.

“Being a musketeer takes a lot of training and dedication,” the captain stood up and folded his arms. “You will be expected to carry out your duties as a soldier of the infantry while also finding the time to hone your skills and abilities to come up to par with the musketeers. It will be a lot of hard work for the next few months. Are you sure about this?”

D’Artagnan considered what the captain was saying. He had not allowed himself to think about it, but now that there was a possibility of it happening, he wanted nothing more than to fight alongside the men who had in such a short time proven to be deserving of both his respect and loyalty. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes sire, I am sure.”

Treville had noticed how the lad had taken the time to think before answering. He allowed himself a small smile. It seemed the boy was already learning. “Very well then, as of this moment you belong to the regiment and you will train with Aramis, Athos and Porthos. The standard pay of a soldier would be made available to you and as your sponsor Athos is expected to equip you with the armor, equipment and other items required by a musketeer. You are dismissed.”

Fifteen minutes later the three musketeers and their newly assigned recruit were celebrating with a drink at Aramis’s insistence and expense.

Porthos raised his glass in toast and smirked. “To d’Artagnan, and the misery that is going to be his training.”

“Hear, hear,” agreed Aramis, grinning. They clinked their glasses together and drank up.

D’Artagnan looked at the men around the small table. He felt overwhelming gratitude for all of them. They had not known him from any random passerby on the street three days ago and yet here they sat, agreeing to train him and even going as far as to take responsibility for him and to provide for him. He struggled to arrange his thoughts before lowering his glass.

“I just wanted to say that I am grateful for all the support you have shown me. A few days ago I found myself completely alone in the world, devoid of all hope and will and today I have friends such as you lot to call upon. I am humbled.” He paused and looked at Athos, who was studying him with an incomprehensible look in his eyes and a small smile. “I promise I won’t let you down,” he vowed.

Aramis raised his hand to signal the barmaid for another drink but Athos stopped him with a shake of his head. He looked squarely at d’Artagnan. “I am going to hold you to that… tomorrow after dawn in the training field, during your first lesson in dueling.” He pointed at Porthos. “Meanwhile you are going to take him to the armory and commission a complete set of armor in his size while you -” he looked at Aramis, “- are going to the blacksmith to get him a complete set of weapons.”

Aramis groaned while Porthos let his head fall to hit the table with a dull thud.

“I am starting to think this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.” Aramis muttered as both of them got up.

Athos just smiled.


End file.
